


Achilles and Patroclus

by Danisarevolutionary (Enderbatpup)



Category: American Revolution RPF, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, I mention achilles too much but not enough for it to count as a crossover, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, idk copious amounts of self indulence, oh god I can't tag, pls read I swear i can write I just can't tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enderbatpup/pseuds/Danisarevolutionary
Summary: Lafayette had witnessed death his whole life, General Lamarque's funeral is no different, another revolution of thousands is about to break out and a brave young blonde man seems way too similar to Lafayette's dead friend for him to let him go.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Achilles and Patroclus

**Author's Note:**

> I read Duty & Inclination by Rebecca DuPont and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller and then got all my passion for Les Mis back simultaneously and you really think I'm not gonna write an unbelievably self-indulgent fanfic about the fact that Lafayette was at Lamarques funeral? you are a fool.

Lafayette stared over the city of Paris, it was gonna be a warm day, he could tell by the bright blue sky, but there was frost on the ground from a cold night, if he breathed hard enough he saw his breath swirling.

The spring had been long and cold and full of death, he’d seen death his whole life, from revolutions in America to revolutions in France, through plague and famine, he lost his daughter when he was still young, in a country he didn’t know, speaking a language he barely understood, he lost his daughter in France, so far away.

That night had been a night of celebration, France had allied with the continental army, he heard the news and kissed both the cheeks of his darling general, and the general had laughed and held him close and called him son, too full of joy for modesty.

His general died 1799.

He went to his camp, ready to cheer with his fellow soldiers and a messenger held out a letter from his wife. 

His wife died 1807.

He opened it and read the words, his daughter had passed, he was so far away, and he could not see her, he could barely think. How long did this latter take to send? Was Adrienne alright? Why was he so far away?

His friend Alexander came to celebrate with him, he poured Lafayette a drink and told him about the new world they’d make with France’s allyship, Lafayette could hardly stop himself from smiling, Hamilton’s cheer was so infectious.

Hamilton died 1804.

Soon their closest friend Laurens joined, the drunk Hamilton moved as close to his side as he could, practically sitting on his knee, Laurens smiled and laughed before looking to Lafayette, his smile dropped when he’d seen Lafayette’s face.

“Gilbert? What’s wrong?” Laurens had asked, the smiling Hamilton also stopped and looked to Lafayette with concern.

Lafayette explained how his daughter had died, how his wife was mourning in France, how despite all the cheer he wished more than anything he could run to the nearest ship and go straight back to his home in France to hold his dearest tight. 

Laurens had held his hand and told him if he could sen Lafayette to France in an instant he wouldn’t be here right now, he didn’t let go of his hand all night, listening to Lafayette talk about his wife and daughter and his time in the French courts and anything they could, Laurens told Lafayette about Geneva Switzerland and his siblings and his mother and dead brother Jemmy, they didn’t stop talking until it the moon was high in the sky and Hamilton and Laurens walked slowly home to the general’s house, holding hands and whispering to each other.

Laurens died in 1782.

Lafayette had visited all his American friend’s graves, left flowers and stories. He told anyone who would listen about the brave men he knew in life.

“General Washington was stern and serious, he kept his feelings to himself but he’d laugh when his wife told him jokes and he’d hold me tight after a long day, we slept under a tree after the battle of Monmouth. He was a father to me and I hope he felt I was a son in turn.”

“Hamilton was fiery, even to his death you can tell he never stopped holding his honour high, he wanted to have a good life with a beautiful wife and his closest friend and a thousand children and he almost had it all. I’ll never forget how kind of a friend he was and I hope he’s remembered not for his death or his rash decisions but for his quiet love of his wife and country and the way he made everyone smile when he charmed them.”

Lafayette returned to America two years after Laurens died, while he visited his grave he did not speak there, instead speaking to Hamilton, Hamiltons bright blue eyes dulled when Laurens was mentioned, it was seemingly the only way to stop him talking, Lafayette and Hamilton traded memories of the reckless blonde, his charming smile and deep passions and his unwavering honour, Hamilton told quieter stories, of Laurens holding him tight when he’d thought Hamilton had died burning mills along the Schuylkill River, Laurens and him swimming in the river after Monmouth, them throwing a ball around the headquarters and knocking over a bottle of ink and being reprimanded by Harrison.

“You two really were the closest I’ve ever seen two people who were not married,” Lafayette had commented offhandedly.

Tears formed in the corners of Hamilton’s eyes and he wiped them on a handkerchief. “Oh Gilbert, I loved him as much as I love my Betsey,” He’d admitted through tears. Lafayette was hardly surprised.

All this death followed him his whole life, family, friends, parents and children, generals and soldiers, none could escape death and yet Lafayette lasted longer than them all.

The bright sun had started to melt the frost, Lafayette began to walk once more, a funeral, how many had he gone to in his life, how many dead bodies had he seen, how many times had he come so close to death.

He threw franc to a homeless beggar who held it up and cheered, thanking him profusely, that would feed him for weeks if he spent it well, but Lafayette could feel the stink of death radiating from these streets. 

His Paris, his love, dying from cholera and starvation as kings in palaces ate cakes and drunk wine, a picture he’d seen before, over and over. Revolution after revolution, the world kept turning and his France went back to normal.

The unrest in the air was palpable, he could feel the youth, angry at the mistreatment of the people, the neglect of the king upon the working class. It was an age-old story but a story Lafayette always hoped to have a new ending.

General Lamarque was a good man, he’d died of cholera, like so many of the poor and homeless men and women that Lafayette passed on the way to his funeral.  
This death was a turning point, a moment of quiet before the storm, Lamarque had been the people’s last voice and without him, the only voice they had was their own.

A voice rose above all the quiet bustle of Paris. 

“Marquis! Marquis de Lafayette! Stop I must speak to you!” Lafayette turned and stopped and watched as a blond man in a bright red coat ran up. “Sir! I needed to speak to you,” The man said, catching is breath. He seemed young, maybe his late teens, and his curly blonde hair fell in his face.

“Then speak,” Lafayette responded, the young man started and began to talk quickly.

“Sir, you are going to General Lamarque’s funeral, we the people must know if you stand with us, this is the last straw you must know, the epidemic, the high rates of poverty, the police arresting anyone suspected of rebellious ideas, sir it’s too much we must revolt, we must make France anew, and we would like to know if you would hold our ideals or throw us down once more?” The young man’s voice was clear and his words were practised, he seemed like a man who would make a great lawyer or politician, he seemed so familiar.

“What is your name?” Lafayette asked, beginning to walk once more and gesturing for the young man to follow.

“Achille Enjolras, my father is Camille-Baptiste Enjolras,” Camille-Baptiste Enjolras was a rich and round man, fond of the monarchy and not fond of republicanism. “I do not agree with my father sir.”

“Achille?” Lafayette asked instead.

“I was named for the hero, but I am no greek hero sir, I have no Patroclus,” Enjolras said quickly, his eyes were wide and blue and they seemed like they’d charm any Patroclus that he could meet.

“Ah yes, I recall Achilles not being that fond of Paris,” Lafayette said with a smirk, Enjolras burst into laughter, his serious brow dropping as he laughed clear and true, he seemed so familiar.

“I stand with you son,” Lafayette said, leaning slightly on his cane as he walked. Enjolras stopped laughing and grinned, so childish, so familiar.

“Thank you, sir-” Enjolras began but Lafayette put up a hand.

“But I do wish someone as young as you were not doing this,” Lafayette continued, Enjolras’ earlier expression returned as his face fell. 

“Sir I am 26, I stand with my people. I am old enough to know the world needs to change, we know a republican society works, you know of America more than I do even, we must fight for this new world.”

“Or die trying.”

“I am willing to die for France.”

“You say you have no Patroclus, no man or woman who you should love enough to kill endlessly for, who you should die without, do you really not?

“None sir, my Patroclus is France, I shall die for her if I need and in my ashes a republic shall grow.”

“And what of the people of France, you have no wife? No mistress? No friends?” Lafayette pried, Enjolras frowned.

“My mistress is Patria sir, and my friends are the fellows of the revolution, my men at arms.”

“No man or woman captures you who cares not for the revolution?” Lafayette asked. Enjolras stopped for a second before skipping to keep up. 

“I suppose Marius Pontmercy? But he isn’t that close to me, my friend Courfeyrac likes him more. And there’s Grantaire-” Lafayette looked back and saw that look in the young man’s eye which he was looking for, the familiar gleam, the gleam Achilles had when talking of Patroclus, the gleam Laurens had talking of Hamilton, and Lafayette knew where he’d seen this young man before.

“Grantaire comes to our meetings but cares not for our revolution, only for drinking and annoying me,” Enjolras explained quickly.

“Do you care for him?” Lafayette asked again, looking for that familiar spark in Enjolras’ eye once more.

“No-” Enjolras said quietly, but the uncertainty in his voice gave him away. “No more than any other civilian.”

“I had a friend who looks a lot like you, he had himself a Patroclus and was every part an Achilles reincarnated,” Lafayette said wistfully. “He died when he was your age, his Patroclus waited in Albany for him, he would cry every time he was mentioned.” 

Enjolras nodded slowly, understanding what Lafayette insinuated. 

“Sir Grantiare is not my Patroclus,” he said again, but he sounded so uncertain, so different from the tone he’d used when talking of the republic and France, like he’d realised something he’d never considered before.

“My friend died fighting for his republic, he found for the freedom of the slaves in America, he wanted a black regiment of 3,000 men to free any black man who fought for America.” Enjolras nodded quietly. 

“America’s slave trade is a stain of hypocrisy on their land of freedom,” Enjolras said, Lafayette nodded in agreement. 

“My friend was a proud abolitionist, he believed in freedom for all not simply the wealthy men the revolution served,” Lafayette continued. “He died in a skirmish with the British, his idea never having been implemented.” 

Enjolras nodded, he understood the implications, Lafayette’s friend changed nothing, America still used innocent humans as free labour, and presidents and congressmen fought to keep it, he died young with nothing to show. 

But this man was just one man, not fighting united, but his revolution came and worked and with the work of all the patriots America was free.

“France will be free, with the united peoples-”

“What people, young Achilles the people are dying.”

“And that’s why we must stand up!”

“And kill more? You are a bright young man don’t you know this will fail?” 

“The people will join us!” Enjolras shouts.

Lafayette sighs and claps Enjolras on the shoulder. “Tell your Patroclus you love him before it’s too late dear boy, he deserves to know.” 

Enjolras nodded quietly, not bothering to argue any more.

“You’re so brave, I hope that when providence takes you you could say hi to my dear friend Achilles for me?”

“What’s his name?” Enjolras asked quietly.

“John Laurens, you’d like him.”

“He sounded like a good man, is his Patroclus…”

“They’re together, they couldn’t stay apart that long.”

Enjolras nodded. “You knew they were like Achilles and Patroclus?” 

“I worked it out, it made sense when I learnt it.”

“You think men like them… like me…”

“Achilles and Patroclus are in heaven I believe, and my John and Alexander are too, and you Achille and your Grantaire will follow suit if this revolution continues.”

“Please don’t let Grantaire follow me…” Enjolras whimpered, he was barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd forming, but Lafayette squeezed his shoulder.

“That’s the thing with you reckless types, you cannot be kept apart can you?” 

“How did Alexander die?” 

“20 years later in a duel with the vice president.”

“I hope Grantaire would live that long…”

“Or maybe he should die before you and send you into a rage to avenge him?”

“No he- he can’t die- no,” Enjolras bit his lip, his brows squeezed together making wrinkles in his perfect skin. 

“Or maybe you should die together?”

“Please stop sir, I can’t imagine that.”

“And yet you lead him into a revolution where you will die?”

“We must rebel, France needs it.”

“Please consider your Patroclus, Achille Enjolras.” 

Enjolras’ name is called from across the crowd and the blonde looks up, he looks to the Marquis and back at the crowd, Lafayette smiles and claps his shoulder once more.

“I’ll remember you Enjolras, someone will always remember you, and when you throw it all away please remember that your life was never in vain.”

Enjolras wipes his eye—Lafayette only just noticed a tear—and nods. 

“And tell your Patroclus what you must before it’s too late.”

Enjolras nodded “I will sir.” He waved to a figure in the crowd and ran to join him. And when the revolution broke out Lafayette pleaded once more for calm, and when the revolution was crushed Lafayette wondered the streets once more and saw a young blonde man lying in blood side by side with many others just like him, his french flag blood-soaked and his hand in the hand of his Patroclus, and Lafayette knew for certain that they were in heaven with Alexander and John.

And he had one more story to keep alive, for however long he stayed alive himself.

And he looked to the sky with a gentle smile and whispered “Adrienne, I will be there soon.”


End file.
